


a feral tenderness

by witchybite



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Very Heavy, ava tries to comfort her, but it's okay you're doing amazing sweetie, my detective's backstory, she's not very good at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25241971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchybite/pseuds/witchybite
Summary: Detective Zara Tang and Ava du Mortain share a somewhat soft moment after her backstory is revealed in which Ava tries to comfort her.
Relationships: Detective/Ava du Mortain, Female Detective/Ava du Mortain
Kudos: 15





	a feral tenderness

The Detective’s apartment was like a real home. It wasn’t cluttered at all, but it was full with enough cute decorations to make it look welcoming and lived in despite how she obsessively cleaned when she was stressed. And tonight, she really was very stressed --- Unit Bravo had insisted on staying over to keep watch, by order of her mother, after a nasty incident just a few hours ago where some dickhead on the street wouldn’t take no for an answer; it resulted in him attempting to drag Zara down a dark alleyway and into a getaway car, and it had also resulted in him getting a particularly nasty black eye after the shock of the moment had faded. 

And now Zara was restless and also would kill for some chocolate, and so Nat had offered to accompany her to the store. The apartment door had closed with a gentle click, and a quiet had settled in the apartment. It was gradually growing darker outside as the sun set over the horizon, casting a warm glow over the sleepy little town, and so Zara had dimmed the lights and turned on her fairy lights instead. The only sounds heard were that of the television which was set on low-volume, Farah’s leg kicking off the bottom of the expensively velvet sofa she was seated in, and Morgan’s occasional puff of a cigarette. 

“Oh,” said Farah with a small frown when her foot suddenly connected with something underneath the couch. Something hard and something solid. The confusion faded quickly though, and was quickly replaced by a mischievous glint in her amber eyes. Curious excitement clawed at her until she quickly clambered off of the sofa and onto the floor, on all fours, to peer underneath the furniture. 

“Farah,” said Ava, her confused voice cutting through the sudden silence. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Investigating,” replied Farah. She blindly stuck her arm out underneath the sofa and fished around for whatever object she had managed to kick, and grinned gleefully when she managed to grab it and pull it out onto the wooden floorboards. She positioned herself cross-legged on the floor and placed it in front of her on the detective’s fluffy rug. A box. It was a box. “It seems our detective has some secrets…”

Ava released an exasperated sigh. “Farah…” she said, the warning in her voice evident. Farah dismissed it with a wave of her hand before running her fingertips over the edges of the wooden box. It was white, and freshly coated with paint. At least, it looked it --- she supposed it wouldn’t get much wear and tear whilst being shoved underneath the couch, anyways. And then she pulled the lid off of the box quickly, eagerness shining brightly in her eyes, before her smile faltered. 

“What the---”

She was cut off by Ava grabbing the box from her, fully intending to re-seal the object and place it back in its rightful place, except she found herself to be just as surprised as Farah was once she caught sight of what was inside. 

A tiny, tiny, white baby onesie was placed in there, along with other items; an ultrasound scan picture, a cut lock of hair sealed inside of a tiny glass box, and another, smaller wooden box, with a plaque on the front, engraved with a name: Vivienne. 

Ava clenched her jaw and frowned before quickly snatching the lid out of shocked Farah’s still hands, putting it back on top of the box, and shoving it under the sofa. But it was too late.

The detective and Nat stood in the doorway; Nat had moved a little more into the apartment, oblivious to the girl’s utter shock as she stood, frozen, in the doorway. All the detective could see was Farah’s hands grasped around the box --- _her box_ \--- and Ava putting it back where it came from. And then she could distantly hear Ava snapping at Farah through the ringing in her ears about touching things that weren’t hers, and Nat was asking what was going on, and Zara had no fucking idea what to do. 

“I---I didn’t mean---” Farah stammered, unusually flustered and panicked for the young vampire, before she finally caught sight of the detective in the doorway. Her eyes grew wide. Ava’s expression once again turned into shock. ( _If it wasn’t for the context of the situation, Zara was certain that she wouldn’t have been able to hold back a laugh at the way Ava’s lips parted and eyes widened considerably_.) Nat, thankfully, hadn’t seen the contents of the box --- neither had Morgan from her place crowded into a corner. 

Zara bit the inside of her cheek before managing to move. She closed the door behind her and made her way into the kitchen without a second glance at the living room. Unfortunately, her apartment was open-plan apart from her bedroom, and so it was really fucking hard to do. She wordlessly switched on the coffee machine and watched it grow alive, listening to the gentle whirring it made, desperately hoping for it to drown out everything that had happened. And maybe even erase it completely. 

It was an awful lot to ask of a coffee machine, really. 

She opened a cupboard and grabbed a white mug. Not her favourite. Her favourite was in the dishwasher --- had it finished yet? --- no. She placed it under the coffee machine. Her head throbbed with her own heartbeat when Ava cleared her throat. 

“Detective,” she said, and tried to sound stoic, but Zara could hear the concern in her tone. Zara tried to drown it out as the machine poured out her drink. She stirred. Ava tried again. “ _Detective_.”

Zara went straight into her bedroom, closed the door behind her, and let herself slide down it, tucking her knees up to her chest and breathing shakily. She shouldn’t be acting like this --- not in front of Unit Bravo, anyways. But they also shouldn’t have found out. She had kept the secret well enough for years and had killed any surfacing rumours with harsh glares and an intolerance to the gossip. They weren’t supposed to know, she repeated in her mind. Why do they have to know?

Her shuddering breaths were the only thing she could hear for quite a while, until the panic and shock dissipated into anxiety and shame. It clawed and crawled its way up into her guts, bubbling furiously, threatening to spill right out of her. And it did. She cried for a long time --- she didn’t know exactly how long. Maybe a few hours. Maybe just half an hour. 

The sky was enveloped in vast darkness when she managed to hold back her choked sobs, wipe her eyes with some tissues, and turn on her record player. The scratching sound was familiar. The sound of the smooth music echoing around her room was comforting. It was okay. It was going to be okay. 

Was it?

She was sat cross-legged on her bed when there was a knock on her bedroom door. Her chest tightened with the returning panic. “Zara?”

Ava. It was Ava. 

Her panic abated; just like that.

“Yeah?”

The door opened swiftly and there she stood, but not for long until she moved and closed the door behind herself. Zara blinked. “I came to see if you were alright,” said the woman. Her blonde hair, usually pulled up into a tight bun, was slightly mussed. Two strands of hair fell at either side of her face, framing the soft lines of her cheekbones. Her brows were furrowed with concern. “And to apologise for what happened.”

Zara shrugged bitterly. “It’s not your fault.”

Ava stared at her for a long while, gaze softening as she watched Zara tuck her hair behind her ear and attempt to give her a smile. It was soft and made Ava’s stomach churn with foolish fluttering. She cleared her throat and tried to bury the feeling --- she had been unsure of whether to check up on Zara for hours now as the memories of the last time they’d been alone together in this room burned brightly in her brain. That memory made her heart flutter, too. 

“Regardless,” said Ava, “I’m truly sorry.”

Zara nodded before she paused. “You don’t have to just stand there, you know,” she said, and her voice was small. “I don’t bite.”

An amused smile curled Ava’s lips, eyes glinting but still shining with worry. Wordlessly, she walked across the room and sat stiffly at the edge of Zara’s bed. Zara leaned back against the plush pillows and watched her before she broke the silence. 

“Is Farah okay?”

Ava blinked. “I believe she is,” she said. “Although concerned.” She tried her best to stop the way her stomach churned at Zara’s soulless tone, or the lingering touch of hurt that shone in her eyes. Despite herself, Ava felt the determined urge to _do something_ , _anything_ that would provide even the slightest ounce of comfort to the detective. Her mind ran blank. Maybe some coffee, or---

Zara averted her gaze to stare up at the ceiling. “I heard shouting.”

“Yes.” The word was stiff. She wasn’t very good at this sort of thing.

“Do you hate me?”

The shocked expression on Ava’s face was too quick to be hidden. “Why on earth would I hate you?”

Zara shrugged again. “You saw what was in the box, yeah?”

Ava’s jaw clenched. “Yes,” she admitted. “Although I was simply trying to stop Farah from rummaging through your belongings --- which she called _investigating_.” Her words were tempered with their usual sharp edge of disapproval, but it was different this time. 

The dark-haired woman didn’t seem to listen. She never did like to take no for an answer; it was one of the many traits that Ava couldn’t help but admire about her. Her fierce determination, her unwavering ambition, her ferocious tenderness that was reserved just for Ava, just for their moments alone like this. “I wouldn’t blame you for hating me.” She laid herself vulnerable, over and over. She would regret this in the morning.

“I couldn’t hate you if I tried,” confessed Ava, and the tone she used was the gentle one that made Zara’s heart swell, her stare so soft it almost made her melt under it. Zara swallowed thickly, trying to suppress how she was often reduced to nothing but raw, uncaged tenderness whenever Ava was around. Ava was doing the very same, Zara could tell, by the familiar way the blonde woman wavered under her softer stare, shifting and shying away from it, shielding herself once more. Something about the tenderness of the night made it near impossible for Ava to preserve her walls and her dignity, and so she gave in, again and again and again, as she always did. The quizzical thing was how Zara managed to always make her _want_ to give in; to shatter her own safeguards, if even for a moment, and follow her light. She wondered if it would be safe. She wondered if it would feel as warm as Zara’s skin did on hers. Yes, she thought to herself. Without a doubt. And there was that foolish fluttering in her chest once more.

“Have you?” asked Zara.

There was a heavy pause.

“Every day,” said Ava.

And gosh, she wished she could.


End file.
